What Kind of King?

What Kind of King?

Mark 11:1-11

April 5, 2020 (Palm Sunday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

Video Opener

Sermon Study Guide

I have been a Methodist all my life, but I was in college and seminary before I was really introduced to the sermons of John Wesley and the hymns and songs of Charles Wesley. As is usually the case, most people, myself included, remember far more of Charles’ songs than we do John’s sermons, and I fell in love with the way Charles took John’s teaching and put it to music. I mean, can you imagine Christmas without “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing,” or Easter without “Christ the Lord is Risen Today”? The songs of Charles Wesley have, in many ways, been the soundtrack of my faith these last many years. But there is one song I can’t quite get past, one lyric he wrote in which I think he missed it by a long shot. The song is called “Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild,” and I get it that he wrote it for children, to help them relate to Jesus, but to me, the imagery is all wrong (and I’m sure Charles worries about what I think). The Jesus I encounter in the Gospels is many things, but “meek and mild” he is not.

All throughout this very strange Lenten season (did you remember it’s Lent? Because in the last couple of weeks, I’ve had to remind myself repeatedly that it’s Lent), we’ve been looking at stories in the Gospels where Jesus seems to be behaving badly. He isn’t doing what those around him, and very often us as well, think he should. This morning’s story, because we read it every year on this day, Palm Sunday, is very familiar to most of us, and so it doesn’t seem so out of the ordinary. I mean, just what, exactly, is Jesus doing here that is so bad? Well, read the story closely and you’ll see at least three things that are not ordinary. Jesus is involved in the theft of a donkey. He’s impersonating a Messiah, so the people think. And he’s creating a public disturbance, riding into Jerusalem. And he’s just getting started on this week of all weeks. This morning, though, we’re going to look at this familiar Palm Sunday story through first century eyes, because when Jesus came riding down the side of the Mount of Olives, he was seen by many on that day as a revolutionary—anything but “gentle Jesus, meek and mild.” Is he a revolutionary? And if so, what kind of revolution was he bringing to Jerusalem on that day so long ago?

So, it’s Passover time in Jerusalem. It’s about the only time when the Roman governor came to Jerusalem; most of the time he preferred to stay in the palace in Caesarea Maritma—on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. But during Passover he made the trip to Jerusalem to make sure these unruly Jews didn’t get out of hand. Passover was one of the festivals you were expected to attend in person if at all possible, so what was usually a quiet little city mushroomed into a metropolis during this time. And that many people could cause a whole lot of trouble if they wanted to.

Still there was great anticipation among the people as they traveled to Jerusalem. In 1995, before they built a big superhighway into the city, our bus took us on the route that many of these pilgrims would have taken when they came for Passover. That route starts in Jericho, in the desert, 800 feet below sea level. Jericho is the lowest city on earth, but it’s only a dozen miles from there to Jerusalem, which sits some 3,000 feet above sea level. So it’s a pretty steep incline, a hard trip to make. And yet, I’ll never forget coming around the corner the first time and catching my very first glimpse of Jerusalem, the holy city. For me, it’s the place where so many events in the Gospels happened, but for those in the first century, this is the city King David established as his capital. This is the place where Abraham encountered God on Mount Moriah. This is the place where the Temple stood; the holiest spot on earth was here. If God was said to dwell anywhere on earth, it was Jerusalem. Once you made that turn toward the city, all the weariness of climbing so high so fast would disappear (cf. Wright, Mark for Everyone, pg. 146).

Passover was all about freedom. If you remember from our study of Moses last fall, Passover was a remembrance of God setting the people free from slavery in Egypt. But it was more than just remembering. In the Passover celebration, the people believed they became part of the group rescued from slavery. It wasn’t just remembering that God had done something back then and there; it’s was about knowing God was still setting captives free and that he would do so in the future. And that plays into why Passover made the Roman authorities so nervous. If there was ever a time during the year when someone might get the bright idea to lead a rebellion and rise up against Rome, it would probably be during Passover. So the Roman army is on high alert during this time, and that’s why I don’t think Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was as large as the movies tend to make it look. Had there been an abnormal number of people gathered around him, it’s likely Rome would have cracked down on it. Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem isn’t really a public declaration; this is for his followers. And so he gets a colt of a donkey, and he rides it down the side of the Mount of Olives (a steep ride!) and into the Temple courts.

Let’s talk about what exactly is going on here, beginning with Jesus’ sweet ride. Just like today, what you drove (or rode) said something about you. You know it as well as I do that you judge someone, at least a little bit, by what they drive. You look at someone in a Tesla differently than you do someone in a Toyota. In the ancient world, what you rode communicated to the people what your intention was. If a conquering king came riding into your city on a white warhorse, you knew he was there to judge and destroy the city. A white horse was bad news. If he came riding on a donkey’s colt, he was coming in peace. The rabbis said something similar about the Messiah; they believed that when the Messiah came, if Israel was not ready, he would ride a colt but if Israel was ready, he would ride a white horse. Does anyone remember what the book of Revelation (19:14) says Jesus is riding when he returns? Yep—a white horse. But on this day, as he rides into Jerusalem, he rides a colt. He comes in peace, but he also knows Israel is not yet ready for him (cf. Card, Mark: The Gospel of Passion, pg. 137). That’s part of why, I believe, he stops halfway down the side of the mountain and weeps over the city (cf. Luke 19:41). Today, there’s a small, tear-shaped chapel at that location that is one of my absolute favorites places in all of the Holy Land. In that little chapel, you can see the city spread out before you, and I always get this same feeling Jesus must have had: why do you not listen?

The group around Jesus is most likely made up of other Passover pilgrims. Some probably knew who he was, but many may not have even been aware of his presence until his disciples bring him this donkey to ride on. At that point, Mark says, they create a makeshift saddle for him out of their cloaks, and then people begin spreading cloaks and leafy branches on the road. Notice that Mark does not say “palm” branches. Palm trees are not native to Jerusalem; they grow near Jericho, and some have been transplanted to the Jerusalem area, but they don’t grow there easily (Wessel, “Mark,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 8, pg. 724). Only John (12:13) mentions that they used at least some palm branches on this day, and if that’s the case, they probably carried them all the way from Jericho because the palm was a symbol of freedom. So these branches which were meant for use in celebration during the Passover are now used to declare who they believe Jesus to be. He’s the freedom-bringer. It’s radically extravagant. You see, in the dusty, dirty Middle East, you didn’t throw your cloak on the ground for it to be walked on. That might be the only one you have. And you didn’t cut off branches from a tree that was more than likely put there to provide shade from the hot sun. You just didn’t do those things—unless you were welcoming royalty (cf. Wright 147). What’s happening there on the side of the Mount of Olives is not just a happy little parade; this is a proclamation, from at least a small crowd, that the man on the donkey is a king and, these people believe, he’s coming to claim his kingdom and give them freedom.

That’s what all the singing is about. “ Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” (11:9-10). “Hosanna” was a common Passover greeting, sort of like saying, “Hey, there! Haven’t seen you since last year!” Literally it means, “Save now!” But it had come to mean some combination of that and “Praise God!” So when they cry out, “Hosanna,” they’re sort of saying, “Praise God, and by the way, God, can’t you do something to save us right now?” (Card 137; Wessel 725; Wright 148). The beginning and end of their song is from Psalm 118, but in the middle of their song—musicians might call it the bridge—there is this dangerous prayer: “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David.” And they’re singing this around Jesus, entering the city like a conquering king who has come to bring peace (riding a colt). They’re singing this as he enters a city under occupation by another power, a city presided over by a governor appointed by Rome. They singing this as that governor is on edge, worried that a revolution might break out during the Passover festivities. These are the seeds of a revolution, and it is, in fact, revolution that Jesus has in mind. But his revolution and the one the people want are not the same thing—because Jesus is not the kind of king the people are hoping for.

“Messiah,” or its Greek equivalent “Christ,” is a royal title. Everyone expected that the Messiah would be a king—an earthly king, someone who would rule from Jerusalem and conquer the world. In the first century, especially, expectation was high that such a king would come and kick out the Romans and set up Israel as a sovereign, independent nation once again. There was a constant longing for a return to the days of King David, their greatest king, when Israel was at its height. And so, you remember, Jesus took his disciples on a retreat once, to a place far, far north called Caesarea Philippi. It’s a fascinating place, still today, because you can walk among the ruins of all these pagan temples. If you wanted a religious place in the first century, Caesarea Philippi was it. It was sort of a shopping mall for religion; temple after temple after temple, lined up for you to choose. Which god do you want? He or she probably has a temple here. And it was in that place, with the backdrop of all these religious choices, where Jesus had asked his followers two questions. First of all: who do people say that I am? That was just the warm-up question; their answer really didn’t matter because the main question he wanted to ask was the second one. Who do you say I am? And Peter, who usually speaks for the group, says, “You are the Messiah” (Mark 8:27-29). Now, I don’t know what Peter expected Jesus to do at that moment, but I’m pretty certain it wasn’t what he actually did. Mark records it this way: “Jesus warned them not to tell anyone about him” (8:30). What? Why not? Peter got the answer right; wouldn’t Jesus want a testimonial, someone to tell others who he is, someone to endorse him? I mean, political candidates spend big money to get people to endorse them. Why doesn’t Jesus want that? Well, far be it for me to guess the mind of the Son of God, but most scholars have concluded that Jesus wanted to be the Messiah on his own terms. He knows he’s not going to be the kind of king the people think they want, the kind they think they need, the kind of king they are looking for. That’s not the kind of revolution he came to bring. If Peter goes around saying, “Hey, here’s the Messiah!” people are going to expect the wrong things from Jesus. And so, instead, he lets his actions speak for him. He is not the warrior king; he is a suffering servant (cf. Strauss 27).

As a servant, he did not come to conquer and kill. He came to, well, serve, which he will demonstrate on Thursday evening by washing feet. But even before that, Jesus is constantly serving others and in that service, he is telling us about his kingdom. Jesus performs basically four different kinds of miracles, all a part of his larger mission. The ones we think of most often are the healings, where Jesus rids a person of a disease or a weakness. These healings are about restoring the brokenness of humanity, the places where our sin and our fallenness have impacted our lives. I’ve said it many times before, but I’ll keep saying it until I can’t any more: God does not cause cancer, God does not sit up in heaven and see you down here and decide to zap you with a serious illness, and God did not send the coronavirus. To our special needs folks, let me say this, too: God is not punishing you in any way with your challenges. That’s not the God of the Bible. All of those things and more are evidences of our fallen world; it’s not the way God ever intended the world to be. And so Jesus heals people—then and still today—as evidence of his desire to bring the world back to the way it was intended to be from the beginning. I don’t have an answer as to why everyone isn’t healed in this life, even when we pray and ask for healing. I’m living proof that for some reason, God doesn’t choose to supernaturally heal everyone. I wasn’t healed except by the hands of a skilled surgeon, and that also puts me at risk in this strange time we’re living in now. But this I do know: one day, when I am with Jesus, I will be made whole, given a new body without limitations and remade fully the way God intended me to be. That’s the good news of the healing Jesus does; that the promise to all who believe. He came to make us whole.

He also came to make creation whole, and that’s the message of the nature miracles. When he walks on the water, when he calms the sea, when he turns water into wine, Jesus is reclaiming fallen creation. Paul described it this way: “The creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed…in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time” (Romans 8:19-21). Creation itself knows this is not the way it’s supposed to be, and when Jesus does nature miracles, he is restoring the fallen creation. One day, when the king returns and establishes his kingdom forever, this is what is promised for creation: “The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them” (Isaiah 11:6). Creation in perfect harmony because the king is on his throne. The king is in the room.

Then there are the exorcisms, the times when Jesus casts out demons—from people and from animals. Remember the pigs that ran down the hill? Even the storm at sea, when the boat that the disciples are in is threatened, is described as a demonic storm, an attempt early on to do away with Jesus and his followers. But no matter what power Satan uses, Jesus’ power is greater. Evil will not stand; demonic forces will not win. Some say, even some pastors say, that in today’s world we’re too smart, too grown up, too sophisticated to believe in demons. And I don’t about any sort of being with horns and a pitch fork and red pajamas, but I do know this: evil is real and it’s rampant. Children being abused is evil. People being sold into slavery to satisfy the pleasures of buyers is evil. People being beheaded because of their religious faith is evil. People flying planes into buildings or terrorizing others just because they disagree is evil. Demons today may not be so obvious; they often wear respectable faces like policy, procedure and even a free election. But evil is still real, and I say all that not to scare you or to have you looking around every corner for a demon. When I was in seminary, I worked at the Ichthus music festival one year as an altar counselor, and I still remember them telling us that they wouldn’t let youth pastors in the prayer room anymore because so many of them in the past had come in and tried to cast demons out of their youth. Yeah, I was a youth pastor once; I get how you might feel that way sometimes. But not every bad act is because of a demon. They don’t lurk around every corner, and here’s the main point of the exorcisms in the Gospels: Jesus is greater and more powerful than evil. He proved it over and over again.

And the final type of miracle Jesus does is resuscitating the dead. Now, I have to say, I’m not sure this is the kind of miracle that was appreciated by the recipient. I mean, think about Lazarus. By the time Jesus got there to raise him back to life, he’d been dead for four days. He’d been in the kingdom, in eternity, enjoying the presence of God for four days. And Jesus called him back here. You see what I mean? When I die, don’t be calling anyone over to raise the dead; I plan to stay with Jesus. Worst of all—Lazarus had to die again. I mean, he probably thought he’d gotten that over with and then he had do it again. Not to mention that John tells us people were trying to kill him to get rid of the evidence that Jesus had power over death. I’m not sure Jesus did him any favors. But all that aside, Jesus shows that in his kingdom, death is not an issue. It’s not a thing, not a big deal. In fact, in the very last book of the Bible, we get a picture of what life in the kingdom is like, and it’s a passage I read at almost every funeral I do because it’s honestly just so beautiful. The promise is so powerful. In the kingdom: “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:4). Jesus’ kingship extends over even death.

Jesus is a king and he is a revolutionary, but he did not come to be king over Jerusalem and he did not come to start a violent revolution. He came to restore what is broken and to bring humanity—you and me—back to God. When he rides into Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday, Jesus comes as a king, but not as one who will rule from an earthly throne. His throne, in fact, will be a cross. And what he does on that cross will show us that “he is here to defeat humanity’s ultimate foes: disease, death, sin and Satan. He is here to reverse the results of the fall and to bring restoration to a fallen world” (Strauss 33).

The revolution Jesus began might be best summed up by his follower Paul: “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord. On the contrary [and here’s the revolution]: ‘If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:17-21). The revolution Jesus brought is a revolution of love, of good, of healing. And he calls us to participate in that same revolution. If we, like the crowd on the side of the hill on that first Palm Sunday, want to proclaim him as the coming king, what better way to do that than to overcome evil with good? Rather than waving palm branches, we proclaim him to be the king by starting our own revolution of love. Start with your neighbors. I know right now we’re still supposed to be doing social distancing, but that doesn’t stop us from calling or FaceTimeing or Skyping to check on people, to offer to pray for them. I’ve known people to make sure take a walk in their neighborhood at the same time every day so that they’ll run into the same people, and ask them simply, “Is there anything I can pray for you about?” Very few people will refuse such an offer, and it’s a simple way to overcome evil with good. We’re collecting cards and notes to deliver to our shut-ins; of all the people who are isolated, the loneliness might be the most prevalent in nursing facilities. Our shut-ins are used to having weekly visits from our team and now no one can come in. But you can send a card, write a note, say a prayer. Overcome the evil of this pandemic with some good. I’m sure you’ve come up with other ways during this time of “shelter in place” to bring the light of Jesus and the love of God into your neighborhoods; why don’t you share some of those on our Facebook page so that others can get their creativity sparked? Simple, kind actions will proclaim what kind of king Jesus is to our community.

This summer, assuming we’re past all this, you’re going to have a concentrated time to proclaim Jesus as a king who overcomes evil with good. A few years ago, we did what we called an “812” mission trip, where we sought to make a difference and share Jesus right here in our own city, in our own neighborhoods. Well, we’re bringing that opportunity back this summer, in July, in the neighborhood around the Friendship House. Our people there (I call them the “advance scouts”) have been building relationships all year, since we opened Friendship House back in August, and now we get a chance to do projects and impact that neighborhood to whom we have made a long-term commitment. And you’re invited to participate, to shine the light of Christ in that neighborhood. We may not be able to transform the whole city all at once, but we can work at it a neighborhood at a time. Anyway, details will be rolling out soon, but I encourage you now to pray about it, consider taking some time off that week and putting some energy toward overcoming evil with good. I mean, you should all of your own home projects done by now, right? But whether or not you participate in that week, this is still our calling every day because it’s the mission of our king. And if he’s our king, he sets the standard for the way we live. He came to love; he came to forgive. And he rode into Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday to start the revolution the world needed (not the one they wanted, but the one they needed), a revolution that has not stopped yet. He is not “gentle Jesus, meek and mild.” He is a king who is determined to overcome evil with good. Do that, live that way, and the world will see Jesus in you. Let’s pray.